


we could stay out all night long and be king of all the roads

by bpdcerberus



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Abuse, Child Neglect, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, skov-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-05 17:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bpdcerberus/pseuds/bpdcerberus
Summary: “Did you set the fire? The one in the sink? Or was it the other guy?” Blake asked.“Kavinsky,” the boy said. “His name is Kavinsky.”“What's your name? You know mine and I know Kavinsky's, what about you?”“Jiang.”“Is that your whole name? Jiang?”“It's all you have to know.”





	1. the gas inside the combustion engine

The walls of the inside of Aglionby Academy for Boys were tall and swooping above Blake Skovron’s head. The teacher droned on about  _ safety  _ and  _ rules _ , two words Blake was familiar with but disdainful of. The first day of the school year was always tedious, but this year, he felt like he was being smothered with a pillow. His chest was tight, and his throat felt dry. 

He’d grown up just outside San Francisco, California, a sunny but foggy city. His parents were near-constantly away on business trips, leaving him alone with his caretaker (an older brother figure for Blake) in an expensive and comfortable but empty house. He saw them maybe 10 times a year, 2 of which he was flown to Washington DC for family business dinners. ‘A strong family image is important, Blake,’ his father would say, straightening his son’s tie. ‘Remember that for your career.’ The word  _ career _ now made Blake angry from long-time exposure. He knew he was rich and had an easy-glide to an ivy league school if he kept his grades above C’s, but never seeing his parents took a toll on him. He was privately tutored by a stiff woman with an impeccable hair bun. He ate dinner with no one but whoever was looking over him that evening, usually one of the housestaff. (They were terrible conversation, though. Blake’s father instructed a number of them to not speak unless they were spoken to, and Blake had no conversation starters to incite them to speak.) He spent all day with Alexander, the man that his parents hired to raise him. Alex was like an older brother to Blake, but an older brother who only stayed around him to be paid. Blake was very sure that if Alex had the choice to sit around all day and do nothing and still be paid the same, Alex would choose to leave him completely alone.

In short, Blake had a lonely childhood, which lead him to start acting out in middle school. He tore up his jeans with scissors, he stopped trying in his private lessons, he even stole 20 dollars from Alex, snuck out, bought hair color, and dyed the tips of his brunette hair electric blue. Blake’s father didn’t find out until that June at a promotional dinner for his company. He was livid, demanding that Blake cut his hair. The young Skovron had screamed at his father, then, in pent-up outrage at his father and his mother. Blake demanded they be home more, to write to him, to call him,  _ something _ . Instead, it was this outburst that prompted them to send him across to country to Aglionby. He never did cut the blue out of his hair.

And so, here he was, feeling like he could cry in second period of the first day of his first year at this new school. The words from the older man at the front of the classroom went in one ear, out of the other. 

Blake swallowed, another lump rising in his throat. This whole school was a reminder of how much his parents didn’t want him. He could understand being sent away for an outburst at his father, but across the country? That seemed like a little much. Were they really that intent on getting rid of him? He could hear his heart beating fast in his ears, drowning out the droning from the front of the room. 

A folded piece of paper landed on his desk. On the top of it, in messy handwriting, was written; ‘Don’t look around.’ Blake blinked, confused, but didn’t raise his head to look for the sender of the note. Unfolding the paper, he read it.

‘ _ You need a break. I’ll make a distraction. You go get out of here.’ _

Blake was baffled. He glanced around for a moment before casting his gaze back at the teacher. The man spoke a minute or two longer before pausing in the middle of his words.

“Now, In this class, my late work policy- What’s that smell? Is someone  _ smoking _ ?” The old teacher swept his eyes over the classroom. “Mr. Kavinsky.” The teacher’s eyes set upon someone behind Blake. 

Blake turned, instantly seeing who this ‘Kavinsky’ was. He was sitting back in his chair, arm slung over the shoulders of a shorter Asian boy sitting next to him. His uniform was rumpled, his collar unbuttoned, and his tie tied onto the handle of his backpack. A tattoo sleeve covered his forearm. His hair was raven-black, dark like a black hole and he was wearing white-rimmed sunglasses. The boy next to him was more well-kempt, collar buttoned and pant seams straight but his hair mussed and tie loose and above his navy school sweater. Inked into the boy’s skin just under his collar was a nautical star. Overall, they looked like assholes. They were a table behind him and to the right. 

After maybe ten seconds, tattoo sleeve boy put a hand to his chest in satirized shock and went, “Who, me?” with an innocent bat of his eyelashes.

“Yes,  _ you.” _ The teacher spat out the second word like acid, but it didn’t scorch the boy.

“Do you  _ see _ a cigarette? I’m not doing anything.” He sounded indignant, but a smirk on his lips told Blake it was mocking. “Why’d you ask  _ me _ ?”

“I’ve been a teenager, Mr. Kavinsky. Those sunglasses aren’t fooling anyone.” Several students chuckled. Kavinsky’s mock innocence melted from his features. Blake saw, now, that the acid the teacher had spat hadn’t scorched Kavinsky, but he’d absorbed it, and now it was displayed on his face. His eyebrows were angry and low, the corners of his mouth turned down, his nose wrinkled with contempt. 

“What are you accusing me of, Mr.  _ John _ son?” Kavinsky said slowly, voice no longer falsely kind. The acid was not only shown on his face, but was dripping from his words.

The teacher - Mr. Johnson, Blake now knew, - didn’t reply. He turned back to the rest of the class, gazed at every student in turn with a studious look, and then began to speak again. Blake looked back at Kavinsky to see he was already looking right at Blake. Kavinsky was grinning widely, sunglasses flipped up onto his head, now. Blake held the look. He thought for a moment Kavinsky’s eyes were just a dark brown, but now he saw the ring of deep green around his pupils. No one’s pupils should be that big. It clicked, suddenly, and Blake swallowed. The sunglasses were pushed back down.

Blake looked back to the teacher. Someone in front of him was still looking backwards, eyebrows creased. Blake followed his gaze to the sink in the back of the science room. Smoke was rising up from it. Blake looked back to the teacher, who had also just spotted the smoke. He ran for the fire extinguisher, running to the back of the room.

Then, Blake saw his chance. He swung his bag onto his back, ducking out of the classroom and sprinting down the hall. He stopped for a moment in the stairwell, catching his breath before going out the door and walking around the back of the school, sitting in the grass and taking his backpack off. Blake ran a hand through his two-toned hair, the lump rising in his throat again. He tried to hold it back, he really tried. Pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his forehead on his arms, he took a shuddering breath. A tear slid down his cheek and dropped onto his khakis. 

“Damnit.” Blake breathed, more tears sliding down his beige cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, but more just kept replacing them. 

“Skovron.”

Blake jolted, looking towards the voice. He rushedly wiped at his cheeks again. It was the boy with the neck tattoo who was with Kavinsky in class earlier. 

“That’s your name, right? Skovron?” He asked, raising an eyebrow nonchalantly.

Blake took a breath. “Blake. That’s my last name.”

The other boy nodded. “Blake Skovron.”

Blake nodded as well, feeling awkward. He wasn’t breathing, afraid that if he did would start to cry again. Silence fell between them for a moment. The boy took a few steps closer, paused, and the closed the space between them to sit next to Blake. He maintained a respectful distance and didn’t remove his messenger bag, but Blake felt the need to move away from him all the same.

“Did you set the fire? The one in the sink? Or was it the other guy?” Blake asked, once he swallowed the lump in his throat far down enough that he didn't start to cry.

“Kavinsky,” the tattooed boy said. “His name is Kavinsky.” His smile was sharp like a kitchen knife, able to slice paper easily as a new pair of scissors.

“Did he or did he not?” Blake prodded, getting impatient.

“Who are you, the cops?” the boy laughed and leaned back against the grey brick of the school building. Blake rolled his hazel eyes, drawing his knees further up to his chest. He decided to drop it.

“What's your name? You know mine and I know Kavinsky's, what about you?” He asked, looking at the boy again. 

“Jiang.”

“That's it?”

“What's it?” Jiangs grin was wicked and hooked over his thin lips.

“Is that your whole name? Jiang?” Blake raised his eyebrows in skepticism. 

Jiang looked out at their surroundings. Sparse trees and lots of dark green grass surrounded them. The air was chilly as the beginnings of fall began to roll in with the August air. 

“It's all you have to know,” He said at last, not looking back at Blake. Instead, he dug a lighter and a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He took one out, putting it between his lips and setting the pack on the grass between them. Blake watched Jiang light the cigarette, intrigued and a little intimidated. As he exhaled a lungful of the grey smoke, Jiang offered the cigarette to Blake. He took it, putting it to his lips and taking a slow drag, careful not to choke on the smoke. Jiang had an interested look in his eye.

“You've done this before,” he noted, looking Blake up and down.

“You're surprised?”

“Full offense, but you look like a fucking dweeb.” Jiang chuckled, putting the cigarette to his lips again. 

Blake laughed for the first time in a while. “Offense taken,” he countered, lightly elbowing Jiang's arm.

They were both quiet for a little while, passing the cigarette back and forth until it was down to the filter. Blake pressed it out on the brick, dropping it carelessly. He couldn't care less if the whole school levelled.

“I’m taking a wild guess and saying you're a dorm kid,” Jiang quizzed, moving to get up. Blake followed, putting his messenger bag over one shoulder. Now that the two of them stood side by side, Blake saw how short Jiang was. The shorter one came up to his ear, if that. Blake was about five foot, six inches, which was below average. The key difference between the two of them was that Jiang made up in presence for what he lacked in height. Blake did not.

“C’mon, I'll walk you home.” Jiang quipped with a wink. Blake recoiled slightly, face scrunching a bit. Jiangs face went deadpan. “Don't tell me you're one of  _ those  _ guys,” Jiang sounded exasperated. “Fine, whatever, no homo if that's what you want.” Blake opened his mouth to.say something but closed it as Jiang turned to walk away. He followed, catching up to walk next to him. 

The breeze stirred leaves on the sidewalk. The two boys walked down the sidewalk, silent and pensive. 

Blake glanced at Jiang, looking at the tattoo under the boy’s collar. Blake wondered if he was a flunkie, maybe. If he had tattoos he must be older, he reasoned. 

He felt a little less alone. 

“Hey. Earth to Skovron.” 

Blake startled, blinking. “What?”

“For a ‘no homo’ guy, you sure seem to stare at me a lot.” Jiang joked, the knife-sharp smirk back on his lips.

Blake glared at him. “I’m not a ‘no homo’ guy.” He protested, which Jiang replied to with a scoff. “I’m not!” Blake insisted, 

Jiang laughed, looking back at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Prove it.”

Blake froze. “What?”

“Prove it!” Jiang said again, turning to look at Blake. 

“Are you proposing we play gay chicken, or am I supposed to relay any minorly gay thing I’ve ever done?”  Blake drew in his eyebrows, trying to remember if he’d ever actually done anything gay. There were nights he didn’t remember and hazy party games, but nothing stuck out. Jiang just shrugged.

“Where’s your dorm?” He asked, starting to walk again. Following close behind him, Blake caught back up.

“256, the West Building.” 

“You’re shitting me,” Jiang chuckled. “Me too. Roomies!”

Blake could feel his stomach drop. “ _ You’re _ shitting  _ me! _ ” He countered, feeling a bit of dread prick his heart. If Jiang was his roommate, he had a feeling he’d be seeing a lot more of Kavinsky.


	2. took away all of the mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake grabbed Kavinsky by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the lockers.   
> “I don’t need you to be my fucking hero,” Blake hissed. “Got it?”  
> “I’m not anyone's hero.” Kavinsky replied, still sneering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW HI finally another chapter of this. I forgot I finished this chapter months ago so uuhhh oops I never posted it. This wont be uploaded regularly I can tell you that now. But! I'm intending on finishing it out through their senior year and beyond that, so ohohohoho

Blake blinked open his eyes. He forgot where he was for a moment, jolting up, thinking he must have passed out at a party or something- but, no. His taupe shoulders sagged, half in relief and half in disappointment. Blake was glad he hadn’t banked out at a party, but the reality that he had been shipped off to a private school by his parents still hit him hard.

He breathed a slow breath in and then out, glancing across the room to Jiang’s bed. In the early morning light, Jiang was a lump in his bed, facing the wall. Blake watched for a moment, confirming that his roommate was in fact breathing, and then looked at his clock.

“Fuck.” Blake breathed out in a sigh. It was 4:41 AM, 3 hours before he had to get up for school. 

The boy flung the covers off his mostly bare legs, swinging them over the side of his bed and getting up. He half-stumbled into the small bathroom, looking at himself in the half-light. He ran a hand through his two-toned hair, eyebrows creasing. The natural brown went down to about the middle of his ear, and the blue went two inches below that. By now, Blake’s hair was about chin length and he was in need of a haircut, but he refused to obey his father. 

‘ _ But _ ,’ Blake thought, _ ‘if I just dye all of it blue, I can have it as short as I want.’ _

He stood, looking into the reflection of his eyes and running his hand through his hair a few times. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he walked out of the bathroom. He stood beside Jiangs bed, wondering if they were close enough friends yet for Blake to ask this.

“Hey,” Blake whispered, shaking Jiang’s shoulder. “Jiang.”

Jiang emitted a long, exhausted-sounding groan, but didn’t stir.

“ _ Jiang!” _ Blake whispered again, louder.

Jiang rolled over, blinking up at Blake. “The fuck, Skovron?” Jiang asked, rubbing his eye with a lazy fist. 

“C’mon, get up.” A hook-sharp grin spread over Blake’s lips. “I’m going to dye all my hair electric goddamn blue, no one can stop me, and you’re coming the fuck with me.”

 

 

 

The RX-7 roared under Blake’s feet. The car was a hand-me-down from his father he’d gotten for his sixteenth birthday. Jiang was very awake, now, eyes aflame with maniacal energy fed into him from the floor of the car. The rumble of the engine was like nicotine to the both of them.

They’d very obviously circled the store three times now, and Blake didn’t care. Jiang hadn’t said anything, either, which Blake appreciated.  

Finally, the turn appeared in front of Blake again, to his left. He nearly passed it again, then turned sharply, car sliding a bit as it went around the corner. Jiang had a small, amused smile on his lips, raising his eyebrows at Blake. He turned into the parking lot outside the store, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly before taking the keys out of the car.

“So you’re a racer?” Jiang asked, smirk still on his lips.

“Who are you, the cops?” Blake mocked, grinning. Jiang’s smile only broadened. 

Blake opened his door, getting out of the car. The chilly fall night air hit him like a bullet, stinging his cheeks and eyes. It never got this cold in SanFran until mid-September. It wasn’t even halfway through August at this point, and it was already bitterly cold at night. Blake took in a lungful of the cold air, burning his lungs as he held in the breath. 

He closed the car door, letting out the breath and shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

Jiang and Blake walked into the 24/7 store. Usually, Blake would opt for the more expensive dye or just go in for a salon job, but there was something charged and boyish about dying his own hair. It made him feel less like some kept poodle and more like a wild dog, untame and unkempt. The thought made him feel more alive. It sent an odd tingle of mania up his spine.

The two boys lazily walked through the empty aisles, stopping briefly in the toy section to make jokes about the vaguely vibrator-shaped toy guns. They wound through all the aisles. Blake ended up picking up three 2 liters of various soda to keep in the dorm. Jiang had his arms full of another 2 liter and a family-size bag of chips.The two of them passed the aisle with the hair dye and shampoo, but Blake didn’t look back at it. He saw Jiang looking at him quizzically from the corner of his eye, but the shorter boy said nothing. Jiang didn’t say much, but Blake sure as hell wasn’t complaining. So, what? He'd changed his mind about his hair. Electric blue just wasn't for everyone, especially not private school boys. He wasn't giving in to his father, no, just retreating. Regrouping. Finding courage. 

‘ _ Fuck,’  _ Blake thought, heart twisting, ‘ _ I want to go home.’ _

  
  
  
  


The morning chill made Blake shiver. He pulled his hoodie tighter around him, zipping it up to shield himself from the cold. Henrietta, being a mountain town, got colder a lot quicker than what Blake was used to. San Francisco got cold in the winter, but the fall was still beach weather there. 

He walked alongside Jiang, heading towards the main building for Science. The fire that Kavinsky had set had been extinguished shortly after Blake escaped, so they could use the room for class still. Though, the back of the room was taped off with caution tape. The back counter was pretty charred, and Blake smirked a bit. The vaugely smoky smell of the room was pretty satisfying.

Blake dropped his backpack by his desk, and Jiang sat across the aisle from him, a row up from where he and Kavinsky sat the previous day. Closer. Blake didn't know if he was reading into that too keenly or not. 

Kavinsky followed into the classroom a minute or so behind Blake and Jiang, his sunglasses still down over his eyes. The white contrasted starkly with his night-black hair, thick eyebrows and dark eyes. Kavinsky wasn’t pale, really, but he wasn’t necessarily tan either. His skin was a sort of olive-toned beige that made him look like a younger, skinnier version of an Italian model. He had the hair to be one, Blake thought. It seemed effortlessly flawless, tossed back and some chunks falling towards one eye like it was windswept.

The boy swerved on his way towards Jiang towards Ronan Lynch’s desk instead. The guy was pretty reserved, and didn’t seem like he had any friends besides his brother, Declan Lynch. Declan was a sophomore, but the two Lynches seemed like peas in a pod. 

Kavinsky stopped in front of Ronan’s desk, putting both hands in front of him.

“Hey, Lynch. You get a fuckin’ car yet?” Kavinsky slurred, an eyebrow raising over his sunglasses.

“No.” Ronan answered simply, voice icy. Kavinsky laughed low and short, disbelieving. 

“C’mon. You just don't want one because you know you can’t beat me.” 

Ronan rolled his eyes, opening his notebook. This made Kavinsky scoff in distaste. He punch Lynch in the shoulder as he walked by, making the dark, curly haired boy glare after him.

Kavinsky didn’t speak to Blake as he passed him, only flicked up his sunglasses, maintained eye contact, and sneered. Kavinskys pupils weren’t as big as they had been yesterday, but he knew from the look in the boy’s eyes that Kavinsky was  _definitely_  not sober.

He tried to ignore him as he sat on Jiangs other side, furthest from Blake. Class began, and the blue haired boy did his best to pay attention. He failed miserably, looking out the window and letting his mind go. 

Blake, if anything, was a terrible daydreamer. Even at home, when he was bored, he’d fall into his own world. Blake would imagine a perfect life with a loving mother and a loving father. In his daydreams, he’d always had brightly colored hair and he wore what he wanted and he wasn’t afraid of being seen by his parents. Alexander was still around, but he was really Blake’s older brother in the daydreams. Alex  _wanted_ to be there, and he wasn't being paid. They were rich, happy, and perfect, and everything was great. 

In today's daydream, Blake reimagined his tenth birthday. 

His father had been away in Germany for the real one. His mother had been at home, but refused to attend under the guise of 'I'm sorry, Blake, honey, I just have so much work to do. You understand, right?'. It always worked on the young boy.  'You understand, right?' That had always been his mothers killing move. The finishing blow. The argumentative checkmate. 

5 years ago, Alexander was the one that gave Blake his presents, lit his birthday candles, and sang happy birthday to him, but i n the daydream, they had all sung to him, each given him one present, and all hugged him.  That had been the one thing Blake had wanted. He understood working. He didn’t understand not hugging your son.

“Mr. Skovron.” Blake jumped slightly, gaze snapping towards the teacher. “Would you like to answer the question?” His face burned with embarrassment and he felt panic rise in his chest.

“I-.. Uh.” Blake stammered, eyes scanning the whiteboard, hoping for  _ something _ -

“Niche communities are mini ecosystems that can survive on their own,” Kavinsky interrupted, sunglasses still perched on his head. “A niche can also be a job an organism has in the ecosystem.” The teacher looked relatively surprised, eyes laying on Kavinsky heavily.

“That is correct, Mr. Kavinsky, but I was asking Mr. Skovron.” 

Blake looked over at Kavinsky, eyes still wide with panic. As the teacher moved on, Kavinsky looked at Blake, face smug. 

_ ‘You’re welcome’, _ he mouthed. 

_ ‘Fuck you’, _ Blake mouthed back, eyes narrowing and filling with acid.

 

When the bell rang, the class filed out the door. Blake stopped just outside the doorway, seething quietly. As Jiang and Kavinsky made their way out of the class, Blake grabbed Kavinsky by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the lockers. 

“I don’t need you to be my fucking hero,” Blake hissed. “Got it?” 

It wasn’t hard to keep Kavinsky pinned to the lockers, as he was an inch or so shorter than Blake. Kavinsky was keeping the eye contact, but he still just had a nonchalant smirk on his face. It just made Blake angrier. 

“I’m not anyone's  _ hero _ .” Kavinsky replied, still sneering. His lack of fight made Blake push him harder against the lockers, but he just chuckled, rolling his eyes. 

“Gentlemen, is there something going on here?” A man’s voice sounded from behind Blake. Not breaking eye contact with Kavinsky, he removed his hands from the other boy’s uniform. He shook them out by his sides, flicking away his mask of acidity that he wore like another set of skin.

“No, sir. Everything’s fine.” Blake replied, turning and walking off down the hall. He was itching to hit something and have it hit _back_. He craved sensation, something other than the burning anger deep-set into his ribs. 

He turned down the hall and walked out the door, heading for the dorms. Blake felt like his lungs were going to explode with how stagnant he felt. He crashed the door to his room open, slamming it behind him and throwing his backpack down. Then, all in one swift movement, h e whipped around and hurled his fist at the wall before he could even think about doing it. Blake’s knuckles left a dent in the pale blue wall and a minuscule smudge of red on the paint. His fingers buzzed and stung, and he looked at the cuts on his knuckles. Two of them slowly oozing blood and all of them were red. He could tell they would bruise like hell. 

Footsteps in the hallway made Blake stand stock still. He hoped it wasn't an RA. Students weren't supposed to come to the dorms during the day unless they were excused for class or needed to pick something up. The sound of his fist impacting with the wall would have made a noise loud enough to attract someone walking down the hallway. Blake held his breath as the footsteps slowed outside the door; he cursed everything as the sound of unlocking keys made its way to Blake's ears. He was surely done for. Skipping class 2 times on the first 2 days, nearly starting a fight. God, if he got suspended or expelled, what would his dad say? What would his dad  _do-?_

The door opened to reveal Jiang, then. His eyes were wary, like he wasn't sure if Blake would pounce on him like a vicious animal or not. But Blake had been too scared to pounce. Once the panic mode left his limbs, he just glared, turned, and sat on his bed without a word. It was quiet for a long moment before Jiang said anything, eyes searching the room.

“Did you do that?” Jiang asked, looking at the blood-smudged dent in the wall. He sounded mildly disbelieving. 

“So what if I did?” Blake snapped. “What’re you gonna do, report me to the RAs?” 

Jiang gave him a quizzical look. “What kind of guy do you think I am?” He asked with a small laugh. "I'm no snitch."

Blake snapped his gaze to Jiang, eyes on fire. “I don’t know shit about you, and you don’t know shit about me,” He snarled, feeling like he could punch Jiang if his dominant hook hand wasn’t bleeding and bruised. 

The shorter boy held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Just don’t paint our room with your blood by the end of the week, Skovron.” 

“Stop calling me that.” Blake snapped. “It’s  _ Blake _ .”

“Jesus, what is your problem?” Jiang asked, starting to get a bit miffed. "I thought we were cool."

“My problem,” Blake shot back, “Is that as soon as I get shipped away across the fucking  _ country _ , everyone thinks they fucking know what’s best for me!” Blake was standing now, slowly encroaching on Jiang. The other’s eyes were wide in mild surprise. 

“You don’t fucking know me at all!” The taller boy continued, voice rising in volume. “You don’t know shit!” Blake shoved Jiang, then, breathing heavily as Jiang stumbled back, calves hitting his bedframe and sending him crashing backwards onto his bed.

There was silence for a long few seconds, the two of them staring. Blake’s face was still angrily screwed up into a glare while Jiang’s eyes were still wide with shock. Slowly, Jiang began to laugh. It started quietly at first, then grew in volume.

“What the fuck is so funny?” Blake growled, annoyed beyond belief.

“N-Nothing,” Jiang managed between laughing fits. “It’s just- hahaha, holy  _ shit,  _ you’ve got damage.”

Blake clenched his jaw, trying not to let this get to him. “Why’s it so funny to you?” 

“It’s not,” he replied, laughter dying down at last. 

Blake raised an eyebrow. "What, then?"

"It's just.. You see, I think.." Jiang got up, throwing his arm over Blake's shoulders.  “I think you’re just gonna fit in here. That’s all.”


End file.
